


Room Three

by blueink3



Series: The Room(s) Where It Happened [14]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, In more ways than one, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post 5x02 Love Letters, Riding, Rimming, Sex Motel Series, Sherwood Motel, Tender Sex, The Robbery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueink3/pseuds/blueink3
Summary: “Um, where are we going?” His voice is rough and he’ll need a lengthy spa manicure in Elmdale to fix the way he’s mangling his cuticles.“Thought we could use some alone time,” Patrick replies, eyes never leaving the road. There’s something odd in his tone. Casual. Controlled.“Oh.” 'Alone time' is usually the prelude to a seduction, but David isn’t feeling particularly sexy at the moment.Or, another installment of the Sex Motel series. Takes place after the robbery in 5x02.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: The Room(s) Where It Happened [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644181
Comments: 75
Kudos: 332





	Room Three

Patrick was mad. 

Okay, Patrick wasn’t mad, but he was _something_ : distant but tactile, intense but cautious, quiet but his face is _so loud._ He’s like a piano wire pulled tight, and David is concerned what kind of sound he’ll make if he touches him. He hasn’t felt this strung out since he got high with one of the Kardashians and tried to recreate the bow scene from Titanic on the balcony of her 48th floor hotel room.

It was stupid now that he thinks about it. Both the recreation attempt and what happened today. Perhaps not equally, but David isn’t exactly thinking in anything but absolutes:

 _“Small problem. Our money, um, isn’t for sale.”_

_“I’m_ **_robbing_ ** _you.”_

_“Thought so. Yeah, um…”_

What even _was_ that? Granted, is there an appropriate reaction to have when faced with a (supposedly) armed intruder trying to make off with your livelihood? David isn’t sure, but all he knows is that Patrick would have handled it better. He would have known what to do, and he insinuated as much when he not-so-casually pointed out that he’d only been gone 45 minutes. How did they fuck up so badly in such a limited amount of time? David’s had bathroom blowjobs last longer than that.

He’s been going over the day in his head, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when he realized the robber didn’t actually have a gun. Was it when he was gesturing with his arm for them to hurry up? Did he keep his right hand tucked into his sweatshirt the whole time? Or was it only when he reached for the bag Stevie gave him? 

_“Could you help the man with the door? His hands are full!”_

He’s such a fucking idiot. 

_“Why do I feel like we did something wrong?”_

_Because you did_ , the voice in his head says, and David hates that it sounds like the man sitting in the driver’s seat next to him. 

He had exited the Cafe after an incredibly awkward dinner with his family filled with talk of love letters that made him want to burn his retinas out, Twyla in Alexis’ bat mitzvah tiara, and his mother caw-cawing all throughout the appetizers to find Patrick leaning against his car parked against the curb. And David had been so relieved to see the only sane person in his life that he had forgotten for a brief moment that Patrick was mad at him. 

Because he let their store get robbed today. 

_“So you_ **_upsold_ ** _the robber.”_

He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the glass of the passenger-side window, replaying the last few minutes in his head. He had walked out of the Cafe and Patrick stood against the car, arms folded across his chest and head down, feet crossed at the ankle, like Jake fucking Ryan in Sixteen fucking Candles. 

“Hi?” he had said, more of a question than a greeting. 

“I’ll give you a ride,” Patrick had replied, opening his palm to reveal the keys in his hand and David didn’t argue. Didn’t say much of anything, really. He’d been so eager to get away from his psycho family that facing Patrick’s ire seemed like the lesser of two evils. He never did question how long Patrick had been standing out there while the Roses ate inside. Maybe he should have.

Patrick’s hands are tight at ten and two on the wheel, and David is so lost in thought that he doesn’t realize they’re heading in the opposite direction of both the motel and Ray’s until they’re already past the town’s limits. 

“Um, where are we going?” His voice is rough and he’ll need a lengthy spa manicure in Elmdale to fix the way he’s mangling his cuticles. 

“Thought we could use some alone time,” Patrick replies, eyes never leaving the road. There’s something odd in his tone. Casual. Controlled. 

“Oh.” _Alone time_ is usually the prelude to a seduction, but David isn’t feeling particularly sexy at the moment. He’d really rather curl up in a ball, eat carbs, and watch Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason. Though a gem, it’s not as good as the first one, and that’s really what David feels he’s deserving of at the moment.

_“He had a weapon, right?”_

_“Yeah._ **_Yes_** _. I mean, it must have been in his pocket ‘cause he used both hands to carry the bag out of the store? But…”_

_“Can’t believe you just offered him the wine.”_

Okay, well, Stevie wasn’t helping matters. Not that she ever did. 

Patrick’s knuckles are still white on the wheel, and David wants nothing more than to ease his grip. To apologize for fucking up. To make the stress crease in the middle of his forehead go away. 

He reaches over and carefully rests a hand on his tense thigh, causing Patrick to inhale sharply. David holds his breath as Patrick’s rushes out in a gust, before he reaches down and covers David’s hand with his own, holding on tight. 

Okay, maybe it’s not the end of his fucking world. 

They don’t talk but neither do they put on the radio during the twenty minute drive to Elm Glen. The silence is like a rising tide lapping at his chin, and all David can think about is what he could have done differently. All he can hear is the panicked tone of Patrick’s voice when he called him to tell him they had been robbed. All he can see is the look of relief on his face when he laid eyes on David again. All he can remember is the the way Patrick’s hands curled into fists in his pockets and his annoyed mutter as he walked away from the scene of the supposed crime: 

_“Great. Great stuff, you guys.”_

They pull into the parking lot of the Sherwood and Patrick kills the engine under the overhang outside of the office. He gives David’s hand a squeeze before opening the door and sliding out from beneath his grip. 

David feels oddly bereft and he has no idea why. It’s certainly not like they haven’t been here before. Patrick won’t be gone long, assuming he called ahead, which sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. Betty usually mans the desk at night, though, and she likes to chat, especially to his button of a boyfriend. 

A minute passes. Then two. David averages Betty takes at least five to hand over the key, but Patrick must deftly handle her copious questions because he returns in record time, sliding into the driver’s seat once more, not even bothering to buckle his seatbelt as he pulls away from the office. 

“Which room?”

“Three,” Patrick replies and David snorts. 

“Do you think they have, like, a bingo board back there and they’re just ticking off the ones we haven’t hit yet?” 

Patrick’s smile is soft, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Probably.” Normally he’d have another joke to lobby back, but he lets the ball sail past. 

David is so proud of his sportsball terminology, and he can’t even tell Patrick about it. 

Fuck, this sucks. 

They pull up in front of room three and David stares at the faded metal number on the door. It isn’t until Patrick turns in his seat and pulls a duffle from the back that David realizes he didn’t actually pack for this trip. This unscheduled kidnapping. Is Patrick going to murder him because he let a thief steal some tapenade?

The sound of the door opening is loud in the small space of the car, and David startles in time to watch Patrick step out and slam it shut. It’s not a particularly angry slam; it’s just enough effort required to make sure it closes properly, but David winces as the noise jars his already rattled nerves. He wonders if this is what Mrs. Bennet was always bitching about in the seminal Colin Firth classic Pride and Prejudice. 

As if realizing David isn’t following suit, Patrick stops by the front bumper and glances back through the windshield, eyebrows rising in a hesitant, unasked question. David undoes his seatbelt and slowly follows, watching the taut lines of Patrick’s back as he unlocks the door and pushes it open to the dark room beyond.

As David crosses the threshold, the smell of pine washes over him, and he watches Patrick turn the light on and carefully put the duffle down on the queen-sized bed as the door shuts behind him. David doesn’t need to glance around. He knows what the rooms look like by now. 

“Um” Patrick begins, turning away from David in a careful circle as he shoves his hands in his pockets, “I’m realizing I never asked you if this is okay.” He finishes his slow spin, glancing up to meet David’s eyes briefly before staring back his shoes - 

And all of a sudden, he looks entirely too young. Entirely too small and vulnerable and _unsure_ in the middle of this room whose neighbors they’ve debauched every which way from Sunday. 

David finds a fierce wave of protectiveness washing over him, even though he’s the one that got held up today. He’s the one feeling open and raw and far too exposed despite the sweater he wears. 

“Of course it is,” he quietly replies. 

Patrick visibly swallows and nods, jutting his chin towards the bag on the bed as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “I brought pajamas for you. And your toiletries from my bathroom.” 

They don’t always spend the night. Sometimes it’s an afternoon or maybe even just an hour. But Patrick has packed for _David,_ and he can count the number of people who’ve done that for him on one hand. One finger, if he doesn’t count his nanny. And he’s standing here in front of him. 

“Thank you.” He gives him a tight smile, which Patrick returns and David feels something within him uncoil. 

“We don’t - ” Patrick starts and abruptly stops, like his hands on the wheel, tight at ten and two. “We don’t have to do anything. That’s not why - that’s not why I got the room.” 

“Oh?” Maybe Patrick isn’t feeling particularly sexy either. 

“I just wanted - I wanted to be with you without…” 

What? His obnoxious sister? His nosy parents? _Ray?_ Instead, what Patrick blurts out in a rush of tripped up words is: 

“David, can I please just touch you?” 

Oh.

“Okay, honey,” he whispers, nodding to make sure Patrick knows he means it. 

Patrick strides across the room with purpose, but stops just short of his destination. David had been tensed for Patrick to all but collide with him, maybe pushing him up against the wall (which he definitely wouldn’t be opposed to - he’s feeling a lil bit sexy now), but Patrick just stares, breath hitching as he studies every groove of David’s ( _nearly_ ) flawless skin ( _ugh_ ). 

He can hear the click of Patrick’s throat as he swallows, before gently taking David’s elbows, backing him over to the bed, and so slowly, so carefully lowering him down. The height disadvantage is not one David often finds himself at with Patrick, but he relishes feeling smaller, feeling protected, especially when the events of the day have stripped him so mentally and emotionally bare. 

Patrick steps between his knees and truly does seem content to just… look. His gaze is like a caress, tracing over the arch of his eyebrow, the curve of his cheek, the dip on his chin. He’s staring at David like it would take a lifetime to memorize him, and he’s more than up to the challenge. 

No. ‘Challenge’ isn’t the right word. Because Patrick is looking at him like it’s a privilege. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, and David nods. 

“It’s all okay.” 

But that doesn’t seem like the right answer because Patrick’s eyes close and he exhales like he’s just taken a slow, but thorough punch to the sternum.

“Not everything is okay,” is the whispered reply, so quiet that David isn’t entirely sure he was supposed to hear. And David realizes then that, though Patrick asked to touch him, he hasn’t actually laid hands on him yet. 

That can be remedied. 

“But it can be,” he murmurs, reaching a finger out and tracing down the line of Patrick’s zipper, where his dick is just starting to show interest, before turning his hand and cupping him. Hard. 

It’s like the first crack in the dam. The flick of the switch. A sound like a growl breaks free from Patrick’s throat, and he bends down and gets his hands around the backs of David’s thighs, hauling him up and all but tossing him up towards the head of the bed. The groan that leaves David’s mouth is obscene, but he doesn’t care because he fucking _loves_ it when Patrick manhandles him. 

Maybe this is what he needs to shake him out of the fog that’s settled over him today. Maybe they both do. 

It’s a desperate flurry after that: Patrick toes out of his shoes as hurried hands work to free him of his shirt. David manages to only get his own laces undone before Patrick is pulling his sneakers from his socked feet, tossing them on the floor, and crawling up to press him into the mattress.

David grunts as Patrick’s lips find his, teeth nipping his lower lip, already swollen from nervously biting it on the ride over. Their hips connect and David gasps, spreading his thighs so Patrick can fit perfectly into the v of his legs. He shoves his hands between them and gets to work on the buttons Patrick missed, pushing the shirt off his shoulders, so fucking thankful that Patrick didn’t put a tee on beneath it. 

“David,” Patrick breathes on the edge of a whine, pulling away and resting on his heels so he can wrestle his arms out of his sleeves. 

“I’m here,” he says, reaching for Patrick’s zip and cupping him more gently this time, squeezing and massaging, watching closely as Patrick’s eyes roll back and his hips thrust forward into David’s eager palm. He pops the button and braces his hand against Patrick’s hip so he can carefully lower the zipper. His fingers brush Patrick’s pale, but flushed skin as he works the denim over his ass. “Want to see you.” 

Patrick makes another wounded noise and brushes David’s hands out of the way as he kneels and shoves the jeans down his thighs. David sits up and grabs a handful of Patrick’s ass, digging his fingers in as he noses across Patrick’s stomach, pressing the pad of his thumb to the tip of the cock tenting his briefs.

“What do you want?” he whispers, warm breath ghosting across the growing wet spot and Patrick inhales like he’s drowning, like he’s dragging stubborn breath into his lungs as he clutches David’s wrists just to anchor himself. 

“You,” Patrick manages to reply, whining again as David bends down and presses a kiss to the front of his briefs, sucking the fabric into his mouth and tasting bitter pre-cum through the cotton. “Jesus, David, please.” He’s already pawing at the sweater, which David will allow because his wardrobe has a tier system and this one is at least on the third rung down. Still, Patrick’s grip is gentle as he maneuvers it over David’s head and folds it with trembling hands. He leans over the bed to place the sweater on the nightstand, and David hooks a finger in the elastic waistband of his briefs to keep him from going too far. 

Because he needs to be touching him, he’s realizing. No matter who is mad or what was said or who had their life semi-threatened today, David needs to keep his hands on the man moving back to straddle his legs solely he can cup his face in his hands and give him his undivided attention, despite the fact that his jeans are still on. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Patrick murmurs, gently toying with David’s earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. “Could look at you forever.” 

_Forever._ Well, that’s not a word they’ve said before. Not out loud anyway. 

Squirming under sentiment’s brute force, he drops his gaze to the ugly comforter beneath him, forcing himself through the haze of lust to remember to strip it before they get any more naked. Comforters are not cleaned _nearly_ as much as sheets are, in his expansive motel experience. 

“Looking is all well and good, but I believe you asked to touch,” he snipes, smoothing his palms up and down Patrick’s thighs to ease the sting of his words. He nudges his hips up in a not-so-gentle reminder that he’s still half-dressed and these pants are definitely not drop-crotch.

“Uncomfortable, baby?” Patrick asks with a glint in his eye, but there’s still something guarded about it; something… that David can focus on later when Patrick isn’t _actively_ grinding down on his lap. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, holding onto Patrick’s hips and panting against his collarbone. His dick feels like it’s about to snap in two with how constricted it is, and these fucking jeans need to come off right the fuck now.

Patrick abruptly stops moving and now it’s David’s turn to whine as his weight disappears from his lap. But then the button on his pants is popped and deft fingers are dealing with the complication fastenings, and David has never been more grateful for the workshop he taught on removing McQueen clothing to his bored and horny boyfriend one rainy Sunday. He collapses back against the pillows to give Patrick room to work, eyes slightly unfocused as his hips continue to buck, searching for something, anything to hump against. 

“Easy,” Patrick murmurs, trailing kisses down David’s thighs with every new inch of skin he reveals, removing the pants and his socks with them, laying them just as carefully on the nightstand as he did the sweater. 

He must know what proper knitwear care does to David. 

And if he doesn’t, David blatantly palms himself over his briefs so he gets the idea. _Christ_ , he’s hard. 

Patrick’s lips part as he stares, practically panting as David slides his hand beneath the elastic to take hold of himself. He’s been leaking for a while and the grip is wet enough that the first stroke of skin-on-skin contact is fucking delicious. A moan punches out of his throat, and Patrick is a blur, stalking back over to the bed and tapping his hip with a muttered, “Up, up, lift up,” which David does so Patrick can strip the comforter to the foot of the bed before grabbing David’s ankle, throwing it over his shoulder and nearly bending him in half as he lays down on top of him, kissing him fiercely enough to draw blood. 

God, David loves him. 

He lets go of his cock and grips Patrick’s back, feeling his shoulder blades move as he holds himself up. David’s other hand threads into his hair, tugging slightly and swallowing the sound that Patrick groans against his lips. 

He’d let Patrick devour him if only he asked. 

“What do you want?” he asks again, yelping as Patrick sinks his teeth into his trapezius. 

“Just you.” 

“You - you said, honey,” he manages, panting up to the ceiling as Patrick works what can only be a lurid purple mark worthy of Prince onto his neck. 

Patrick pulls away and David is taken aback by the intensity in his gaze, eyes black and blazing framed by an expression that’s trying to rein itself in. That’s loving and soft and so, so fond beneath the struggle. “Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, and David is nodding before he’s finished, because he’s pretty sure he’d let Patrick do anything he wanted. 

Patrick inhales shakily, leaning in for another, softer kiss before tracing the column of David’s throat with his tongue. He laves at the hollow at the base, before moving down his sternum and taking David’s right nipple into his mouth. David grunts as Patrick adds his teeth, alternating between tugging at his hair and pushing his head into his chest for more. He bucks his hips up, urging Patrick into a slow roll, which works for a moment as Patrick shifts to his left nipple, but then he continues on down David’s stomach, nipping at his belly button before burying his face in David’s groin. 

“Fuck, Patrick.” 

“That’s the plan,” he murmurs, gently taking David’s leg off his shoulder and straightening it out as he tugs the waistband of his underwear down. 

To say he’s hard is an understatement; David’s dick feels like it could hammer nails. The slow build of the evening, punctuated by random bursts of desperation has him vibrating out of his skin. So much so that as soon as Patrick gets his underwear past his ankles, he’s scrambling away to reach for the bag they’ve knocked to the floor, assuming Patrick can handle his own briefs as he hunts around for the lube. 

“Side pocket, babe.” 

And by the time he turns, lube victoriously in hand, Patrick is kneeling gloriously nude on the bed, cock jutting out, chest rising and falling as he pants. David goddamn _whimpers_ as he crawls back over to him, blindly popping the cap and pouring some lube into his hand so he can wrap it around Patrick’s cock and give it firm and thorough stroke. 

He waits just long enough to watch Patrick’s eyes close and his jaw drop, before he leans in and hovers his lips over the shell of Patrick’s ear: 

“Get me ready for this.”

Patrick cries out on the next stroke before all but tackling David back onto the pillows and fucking his mouth with his tongue. David isn’t quite sure when the lube switched from his grip to Patrick’s - he’s too lost in the knot slowly winding itself tighter and tighter in his gut - but next thing he knows, a slick finger is circling his hole, getting him sloppy like his mouth, and he spreads his legs wider than they’ve ever gone in yoga as Patrick slides the first one in.

He inhales noisily, like a moan that’s been caught off-guard. Patrick smiles because he’s said before that it’s one of his favorite sounds - the moment when he first breaches him - and David would be embarrassed if he wasn’t so busy focusing on the fact that it’s the first time Patrick’s smiled all night. 

But then one finger becomes two and David gets one hand around the back of his knee, holding himself open, as the other presses against the headboard, pushing back against Patrick’s fingers that are rapidly taking him apart. 

“How, unh, how do you want me?” he manages in between thrusts. 

“Like this,” Patrick answers immediately. “I need - I need to see you.” It’s the same desperate tone he used when he blurted out, _“David, can I please just touch you?”_

David blinks up at him, hand letting go of his knee so he can pet Patrick’s hair. “Okay, honey.” 

Patrick nods once more and applies more lube before sliding a third finger in. David’s grip on his hair tightens as lights burst behind his eyelids. 

“Now, now. In me now,” he babbles because if he doesn’t this will be over all too soon. But what he doesn’t expect to get in response is: 

“We don’t have to do this.” 

What? “Um…” David raises an eyebrow at that, clenching around the fingers Patrick has buried in his ass. “Think it’s a bit late for that now.” 

“It’s never too late,” he replies more forcefully than he means to, if the way he immediately bites his lips is anything to go by. “I just - ” He shakes his head, as if willing the words to penetrate his sex-fogged brain. “I didn’t want you to think I only brought you here for this.”

Oh. Sometimes David experiences these simple yet earth-shattering moments; these reminders that not everyone wants just one thing. Sometimes one person wants everything. The entire spectrum of the human experience. Even if that human experience is just sitting in a slightly rundown mid-century hotel room, ordering a pizza, and watching whatever romantic comedy is on the extremely limited cable channels. 

He slides his hands across Patrick’s shoulders, up his neck and behind his ears, thumb tracing his jawline as he makes sure their eyes meet. “I want this. Do you?” 

Patrick licks his lips and nods. 

“Words, sweetie.”

“Yes, I want this,” he rasps. 

“Okay then.” David clenches again. “Carry on.” 

Patrick smiles and kisses David’s knee, giving his calf a squeeze with his free hand as he removes his fingers, and David watches him lean down to the bag and pull out a condom. They don’t always use them anymore, but David is following Patrick’s lead tonight. He gets it on with shaking hands and lubes himself up again, before shuffling forward on his knees and leaning over David, hands braced on either side of his head. 

Patrick looks so beautiful like this, his pale skin in the low motel lighting, the muscles of his arms flexing to hold him up but not too far from David’s questing fingers. His body is taut, thrumming with a carefully restrained urgency David can practically see, and David can feel it beneath his own skin, a steady beat of _fuck_ and _now_ and _please._

“C’mon, honey,” he whispers, reaching down and giving Patrick’s cock a stroke before guiding him to his well-prepared hole. He has a fleeting moment of wondering what kind of sex this will be - throughout the evening, he’s been equally convinced that Patrick is going to slowly and tenderly take him apart and yet also bang him up against the wall in an acrobatic feat both of them really should probably stretch more for. 

The kind of sex they end up having, though, is kind of like Patrick himself: steady, dependable, thorough, _good_. David cries out as Patrick enters him, swiftly, but not so fast it hurts. He can feel the mattress dip as Patrick digs his knees in, getting an arm under David’s thigh as he hones in the spot that makes David unravel faster than a pulled thread. 

Their rhythm builds quickly, almost ferociously, and he vaguely remembers to be thankful that the headboards at the Sherwood are sturdier than the ones at the Rosebud. Patrick grunts with every thrust and David rakes his blunt finger nails down his slick back. No one fucks him like Patrick Brewer and sometimes, in these vulnerable moments when his walls have been shattered by a particularly fantastic shagging, David allows himself to think that no one ever will again.

“God, just like that,” he moans into Patrick’s shoulder, toes curling against the sheets as he climbs higher. 

Patrick whimpers, breath catching before whimpering again, and David somehow manages to think _that doesn’t sound quite right_ amidst the much louder _oh fuck yes more_ that’s on a constant loop in his head. 

“Patrick?” he gasps. 

But Patrick’s inhale is wet, hitching over a moan that sounds more pained than aroused. No, that doesn’t sound quite right at all. 

“Patrick? Honey, what’s wrong?” 

But Patrick merely shakes his head and buries his face in David’s neck, stilling his hips as his body continues to tremble. Something wet splashes on David’s collarbone and he knows it’s not the sweat beading at Patrick’s hairline. 

“Okay,” he finds himself saying, arms coming around Patrick’s body as his legs do the same. _What the fuck?_ “It’s okay.” But he doesn’t know if it is. He doesn’t know what’s happening at all. So he just does what comes naturally: he holds Patrick tight and close and pets the back of his head as Patrick falls utterly and completely apart in his arms. And not in the way David expected him to when this night began. 

He’s still buried deep, but going soft, and David’s hands are steady and sure as they stroke up and down his heaving sides, even if his brain needs a second to catch up with his body. 

“C’mon,” he whispers, tongue feeling thick as worry claws at his throat. He rubs a careful circle on Patrick’s hip before tapping lightly at it. Patrick takes the hint and slowly pulls out, keeping his head ducked, chin tucked to chest, drawing in ragged inhales that break David’s heart.

David sits up against the pillows and pulls Patrick sideways into the v of his legs, folding him into his chest as if he’s a child who actually fits there. Patrick buries his face in David’s neck as his legs drape over his thigh, allowing himself to be manhandled with the kind of infinite care David only reserves for him. Groans and whimpers and sobs are hot and wet against his skin, and so David holds him tighter, because he’s honestly not sure what else to do. 

David plucked the piano string. And this is the sound Patrick made. 

“I’m sorry,” Patrick finally manages, and David cups his face, pressing a fierce kiss to his temple. 

“Don’t be.” He’s still not sure what’s going on. The fire in his gut has long gone out as if someone had tossed a pile of dirt on it. “Talk to me, honey,” he whispers, nudging at Patrick’s cheekbone with his nose. 

“I’m so sorry, David,” he says again, as if that’s explanation enough for the last five minutes. 

“Why?” 

Patrick inhales, body continuing to shake, and when he exhales, the words tumble out, tripping over each other in their effort to be heard. “You could have died today.” 

He frowns and pulls away, but only an inch. Only far enough away to look in Patrick’s red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. “What?” 

“The store was held up. You could have died.” 

David resists the urge to roll his eyes. It’s not the moment. “Patrick, it was his finger,” he says flatly. 

“You didn’t know that,” Patrick murmurs. “And I didn’t know that when you called me. Fuck, David, I was so scared.” Another tear splashes on his cheek. 

“Is that why you acted like an asshole?” 

Oh _fuck._ The words are out before he can do anything about it and apparently his brain is _still_ trying to catch up with his body. 

“Sorry - ”

“No,” Patrick interrupts, nodding his head. “You’re right. I was.” 

He leans away to press the heels of his palms into his eyes, and David has to swallow a whine. Despite what he just said, he needs to be touching Patrick as much as humanly possible, so he settles for resting a hand on the knee still draped over his thigh, blindly tracing the scar he knows is there from when Patrick slid into home wrong. 

“I was so relieved,” Patrick begins, “and then I was so mad - not at you, at the situation - ”

“Well, I probably could have relayed the information to the cop better,” he concedes and Patrick smiles. 

“I’m not sure Stevie helped.” 

“Does she ever?” It gets a chuckle out of Patrick, which had been his goal, but then Patrick sobers and stares at David’s fingers rubbing over his knee. 

“And then I got mad at myself for getting mad, when you didn’t do anything wrong, and I just - I didn’t know how to fix it.” 

“You don’t always have to fix everything, you know. This wasn’t your fault.” 

“My reaction was.”

“No one knows how they’re going to react in a situation like that. Hello?” He gestures to himself. “Exhibit A!” 

Patrick exhales and leans in, placing a gentle kiss on David’s neck, resting his lips over his pulse point. “If anything were to happen to you...” He trails off and David feels him shake his head. As if the rest of that sentence is beyond the scope of his words.

As it is, they sink their talons into his heart, the very notion of it ripping at something he thought secret and safe within him - because he feels the same way. If anything were to ever happen to Patrick, he’s not sure what he would do. How he would function. The idea leaves a jagged hole, a gaping wound somewhere he usually leaves untouched and unexamined. 

“I know, honey,” he croaks, cupping Patrick’s head and pressing their foreheads together. “Trust me,” he pulls away and forces their gazes to meet. “I know.”

He feels stripped bare in a way that has nothing to do with their nudity. Normally, that would send him straight to his closet to clad himself in his couture armor, but he feels safe here. With the man in his arms. 

He wonders if Patrick feels the same.

“David,” he begins, cupping David’s stubbled cheek as his lower lip wobbles, “if that ever happens again, give away the whole damn store. I don’t care. Just make sure you stay safe.”

 _Oh_.

David is nodding, biting his lower lip because _one_ of them has to keep it together. “Likewise.” He shivers in the cool air and Patrick gets his arms around him, rubbing up and down his back. They’re still covered in lube if not cum, and David squirms as it starts to get tacky. 

Patrick seems reluctant to let go though. Given that he’d been driving this whole evening until he went to pieces, perhaps David needs to take the lead this time.

“Come on,” he whispers, gently taking the condom from Patrick's flaccid cock as he hisses, and tossing it on the floor. He kisses his temple again and then his lips as he urges him further down the bed so he can get out from behind him. 

“Where are we going?” Patrick asks, sounding congested and worn out, but following all the same. 

David quietly leads him to the bathroom by the hand, flicking on the harsh fluorescent light and making a mental note to pack candles next time. Granted, he didn’t exactly have time to _plan_ for this little excursion, and their go-bag is only so stocked. 

He closes the toilet lid and gently sets Patrick down on it, handing him a tissue for his face and kissing the top of his head before turning on the water. Waiting until it’s an appropriate temperature, he plugs the drain and watches as it fills. Perhaps bath bombs will have to be added to the bare necessities as well. 

“Hey,” Patrick says in the quiet of the bathroom, reaching out and hooking his forefinger with David’s. 

David looks over to find Patrick staring at him with one of those looks that just _floors_ him. It’s open and trusting and so goddamn beautiful that his breath catches. 

“I love you,” Patrick whispers, swinging their hands a little, soft smile faltering just a bit when David’s answering laugh comes out more like a sob.

“I love you, too,” he replies, shutting the faucet off at hopefully the right level for two grown men to get in without spilling water all over the place. “Now,” he maneuvers Patrick off the toilet seat and, to his credit, he allows himself to be deposited in the tub. David hits the light off but leaves the door open, allowing low light from the room to spill across the tiled floors. It’s not candle glow, but it’s better than the overhead. “Scoot up,” he instructs before stepping in behind him, sitting down, and pulling Patrick back against his chest. “There we go.” The water laps at their sternums even as their knees stick up in the humid air. 

David feels Patrick sigh against his chest as the last of the tension seeps from his body. 

“I should be doing this for you,” he murmurs. “You’re the one who’s had the traumatic day.” 

David hums, the sound rumbling against Patrick’s back. “Apparently I’m not the only one.” 

Patrick turns his head to place a kiss on the underside of David’s jaw, and David clasps his hands over Patrick’s stomach, rubbing his thumb back and forth over his soft skin. Skin he’s marked and mapped and worshipped. He lets the warm water sooth his muscles as he closes his eyes, tucking his chin over Patrick's shoulder as he feels Patrick draw patterns on his shin. He's not sure how much time passes - it feels like months and minutes. But it’s quiet in the small bathroom, the only sound the occasional drip from the faucet David didn’t entirely turn off. 

He could say it now - everything he’s feeling. Everything he’s kept bottled up ever since he’d been faced with one of those life or death, fight or flight choices and fucked it up anyway. It’s dark here and Patrick can’t see his face. It would be so easy to whisper it out loud and pretend no one can see him. Also - 

Patrick would want to know. Because that’s just the kind of man Patrick is. 

“Since we’re - ” his voice cracks. Patrick grips his forearm. He tries again. “Since we’re _sharing_ … you should know that I thought of you.” Patrick doesn’t move; he barely breathes. David buries his nose in the back of his neck and closes his eyes. “When he came in and pointed what I thought was a gun at me, I thought of how mad you’d be that you weren’t there. That I wish you had been because you would have known what to do, but also _thank fuck_ you weren’t because I would have lost my mind if you were on the receiving end of that.”

He inhales a shaking breath. Patrick holds his arm tighter. 

“And I think, if it’s okay with you, I think I just need to be close to you.” 

He now understands Patrick’s behavior earlier. What he meant when he said: 

_“I wanted to be with you without…”_

_“David, can I please just touch you?”_

_“I need to see you.”_

_“What do you want?”_  
 _“Just you.”_

“Honey,” he whispers, the low ember of desire flaring once more. He wants Patrick to take him apart piece by fucking piece because he’s the only one who knows how to put him back together once more. He’s the only one who knows how the jagged pieces fit to create something beautiful. Because that’s what he is to Patrick, what he’ll always be: 

Goddamn beautiful. 

He trails his right hand down Patrick’s stomach, tracing the edge of his belly button, as his left hand holds tight to Patrick’s, threading their fingers together. It’s Patrick’s turn to inhale as David brushes the tip of his interested cock, poking just out of the water, circling it gently, teasingly, before taking hold of it and giving it a stroke. 

Patrick arches his back, conveniently pressing his ass into David’s groin, which has very much reengaged in the proceedings. “Fuck, baby,” he moans, pressing back again, and David mouths at the back of his ear, jacking him more firmly. 

“I’m still ready for you,” he whispers, lifting his own hips so his cock slides into Patrick’s crack. 

Patrick thunks his head against David’s collarbone and groans as he gets a hand around the nape of his neck and pulls him into an absolutely _filthy_ kiss. 

“Bed,” David manages when he pulls back for much needed breath. “Back to bed. You can’t fuck me here without breaking one of us.” 

“Fair,” Patrick replies, turning in his arms and kneeling in between David’s spread legs, cupping his face in hands, but pausing, slowing - drawing the kiss he places on his lips out as if to say _we have time._

“Bed,” David says again, more urgently because _Jesus,_ and Patrick chuckles into his next kiss, a tease and a promise rolled into one. David watches him stand on those gorgeous legs and offer him a hand, helping David to unsteady feet and getting sure hands on his waist to keep him upright. 

Patrick steps out of the tub first and grabs a towel, giving himself a cursory wipe down before turning and helping David out, kneeling down and drying his legs and chest with infinitely more care than he showed himself. 

“Thank you, honey,” David whispers, just to watch that smile bloom on Patrick’s face. He hangs the towel up on the hook of the back of the door, because he knows it’ll bug David if he just leaves it on the floor, and guides them back out into the room. 

The light is still on, which is not something David used to like before Patrick: fucking where you can see every inch of skin, every facial microexpression, every flaw, every freckle. But Patrick’s body is just begging to be seen, and David is so invested in cataloging it that he doesn’t even think about how Patrick feels about his. 

He doesn’t need to, actually. Because he knows. He’s told in the way Patrick’s hands touch him, in the way his eyes see him, in the feel of his lips as they worship him. 

It’s his turn now. 

He sits Patrick down on the edge of the unmade bed and urges him towards the middle with a tap to his thigh. He crawls after him, kissing that scar on his knee and staring into his eyes as he very slowly, very deliberately spreads his legs, just to watch the blush bloom on Patrick’s chest. 

“Hi, honey.” 

“Hi, baby.” 

David leans over him and kisses him slowly, tongue tracing his bottom lip as he gets a hold of his cock once more, swallowing the whimper Patrick huffs against his mouth as he pumps it. 

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, pressing one last kiss before settling on his heels, giving Patrick a wink, and swallowing him down. He’d be proud of the shout Patrick lets loose if he wasn’t too busy groaning at the taste of him (finally) on his tongue. 

He keeps his hand around the base, sucking on the top, greedily lapping up pre-cum as he cups Patrick’s balls with his free hand. 

“Jesus, David.” Patrick’s heels slide on the sheets and David gets his hands on the back of his thighs, pushing them up as he pops off Patrick’s dick with one final suck before mouthing at his sack. “Fuck.” 

“Soon,” he murmurs, pushing Patrick’s legs up further and tracing his tongue around his hole, feeling the muscle clench and then give way.

The sounds leaving Patrick’s mouth are a constant stream of whimpers, shouts, moans, and curses - a symphony David would gladly listen to until the end of his days. He alternates between licks and kisses, before pointing his tongue and pressing in. Patrick makes a noise like he’s been mortally wounded and David tries not to preen. He’s so hard, he’s making his own puddle of pre-cum on the questionable sheets below. 

“David,” Patrick pants, fingers scrambling to hold David’s hands where they’re pressing his hips down onto the bed. “Fuck, David, if you don’t want this to end right now, then you need to get up here.” 

He makes a sad sound and sucks one last time at Patrick’s loosened rim, before peppering kisses up the inside of his thigh. But Patrick must lose his patience, because as soon as David reaches his knee, he gets his hands around his shoulders and hauls him on top of him. They both groan as their cocks rub together, and David rolls his hips because he honestly can’t help it. He feels like he’s been hard for hours. He sits back and straddles Patrick’s waist, settling with another groan. 

“Like this?” he asks, and Patrick nods, using his impressive ab strength to lean up and kiss him quickly. 

“You still good?” he asks, snaking a hand between David’s legs and running his finger gently around David’s rim. 

“God, yeah,” he whispers, pushing back a little on it, feeling it easily slide in. 

“You sure?” Patrick asks, but it’s teasing this time, getting a second finger in next to the first and fucking him slowly. 

“You’re the actual worst,” David says through a laugh, but Patrick merely replies with: 

“I know.” He gets the lube and removes his fingers (pressing another kiss to David’s collarbone when he whines) and slicks them up, making sure David is adequately prepared before slicking up his dick. “Let me get a condom,” he says, but David shakes his head. 

“Don’t want one. Just want you.” And he does. He wants to be so close to Patrick, he aches with it. 

“Okay, David,” he whispers, in that way he does that contains multitudes. 

He raises up so Patrick can scoot back closer to the pillows stacked against the headboard, and David shuffles forward as Patrick takes hold of his cock with one hand and David’s hip with the other, gently guiding him down. 

“Fuck,” they both breathe as Patrick fills him. The slide is easy from their previous go at it, but it still manages to punch the air from David’s lungs. This particular position is… good. 

David begins the steady roll of his hips, a moan escaping every time his ass presses against Patrick’s hips. His cock fills him like no one else’s has, and he could spend the rest of the night doing this if they hadn’t already been so keyed up from everything that came before it. 

Patrick bends his knees, planting his feet on the mattress, and holds on to David as he sets the pace. “You’re so good at this. How are you so good?” 

He wants to say something like, “Practice,” but he doesn’t want to cheapen the moment. He doesn’t want to bring his past bedfellows into this sacred space. Even if it is a cheap motel on the side of the highway. It has Patrick and it has him and that’s all it needs. 

“Are you okay?” Patrick asks. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I’m perfect.” 

“Legs aren’t too tired?” He runs his hands up and down his thighs.

“If you’re still concerned about the state of my legs, then I’m not doing my job properly,” he grumbles, but then Patrick thrusts up pointedly and he groans against his mouth. 

“Trust me, baby. You’re doing - your job - just fine.” 

“Just fine?” He grinds down and Patrick moans. 

“Employee of the month.”

David leans back against Patrick’s bent legs, and Patrick’s jaw drops as he falls back against the pillows. 

“Fuck, David.” 

He has only a moment to gloat, though, because then Patrick is getting a hand around his cock, and David lets out a needy noise he tries to remember to be embarrassed about later. 

“This isn’t going to last much longer,” he manages as Patrick continues to play him perfectly. 

“Too far away.” 

“Huh?” 

“You’re too far away,” Patrick pants, sitting up again and pulling David away from his legs and into his arms. “Can I hold you?” 

“You are holding me.” 

“No, I mean - ” he cuts himself off and takes hold of David’s hips, slowing him down. “I need to be closer to you.” 

David knows they can’t get much closer but he understands what he means. “Spoon?” he asks, and Patrick nods against his chin, exhaling a breath that feels cool against David’s sweat-slicked chest. “Okay,” he says, taking a moment to gingerly get off of Patrick’s lap, already hating the separation. He lays down on the bed and turns on his side, urging Patrick to slide up behind him by gripping his flank and tugging. “Come back to me.” 

Patrick chuckles and gets one arm under his neck as the other guides his cock back to David’s hole. 

“I thought you wanted to see me,” David teases. 

“I do,” Patrick breathes, pressing a light kiss to the back of David’s neck as he slowly enters him. “I see you, David Rose.” 

_For all that you are._

David hiccups a wet breath and grabs Patrick’s free hand, pressing it against his chest, over his thundering heart. 

No one has seen him like Patrick. 

“Take me apart.” 

“You got it, babe,” Patrick huffs, snapping his hips faster and pulling David hard against his chest. 

David loves this position - feeling Patrick all along his back, touching Patrick with almost every inch of his body. He feels safe. Content. Unraveled but never unspooled. He takes Patrick’s hand and guides it to his cock, wrapping his fingers around it and setting the pace of his strokes, hard and fast. He’s been keyed up for so long, he moans into the pillow and knows this isn’t destined to last. Patrick hits his prostate with every thrust, and David all but sobs. 

“I can’t -” Patrick digs his teeth into David’s shoulder. “God, baby, I’m gonna come.”

“Do it.” God, he wants it. 

Patrick slams into him a few more times before his hips stutter and he cries out, a guttural sound that’s ripped from his throat. The feel of him coming within him is all David needs to catapult over the edge of a frankly fucking fantastic orgasm. His body locks and he gives himself over to pleasure as Patrick’s perfect hand milks the last of it from his body. 

“Fuck,” he groans against the damp pillowcase where he’s drooled. He and Patrick have a policy of ‘what happens at The Sherwood stays at the Sherwood,’ so he knows he won’t be mocked for it come morning. 

“Oh my God, David,” Patrick manages, mouthing light kisses against his neck. 

“Yeah,” David pants, groaning as Patrick lifts his cum-covered hand to his lips and begins to lick it clean. “No, nope, you’re going to send me into cardiac arrest.” 

“Can’t have that,” Patrick teases, tugging at David’s earlobe with his teeth. “Not after such a trying day.” 

“Exactly,” David replies, attempting to swat him away and missing by a mile with his lethargic limbs. 

“Let me clean us up, baby,” Patrick murmurs, pressing a kiss on his neck, in the spot that was made for him - or maybe just the one he's laid claim to - and begins to untangle himself. 

“No, stay,” David says, getting a hand on Patrick’s hip and preventing him from pulling out. “Just - just for a minute.” He’s not ready to give up their cocoon of… whatever this is. Contentment. Understanding. Apology. 

“Okay,” Patrick whispers, settling in once more and getting a thigh between David’s legs. Eventually he’ll go soft and eventually his cum will make David start squirming, but until then, David just wants to stay here. Wrapped up in the arms of the man he loves, and will continue to love unless time or fate or some other unforeseen circumstance says otherwise. 

But until that happens - until another one of those life-or-death, flight-or-flight moments come at him far before he’s ready for them to - at least he knows he’ll always have Patrick to run to. 

Of that, he’s sure.


End file.
